


The Chalice

by Anonymous



Series: okurimono-dono [2]
Category: Evillious Chronicles
Genre: Gen, Levin Church, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25817800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A phantom thief always sends a calling card.
Series: okurimono-dono [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968400
Kudos: 9
Collections: Union Server of Evillious 24 hour ficjam





	The Chalice

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Cards

The card was neatly cut, and trimmed with delicate gold leaf that shone in torchlight. It was inscribed with black ink in a tidy cursive, and the swirling letters seemed to dance across the white cardstock. " _To His Most Reverend Excellency the Archbishop Asayev_ ," it read, " _The Holy Chalice which you guard so jealously shall be stolen at sunset in three days' time. When it is done, let it be known that the one who has taken your treasure is none other than the great Phantom Thief Platonic._ "

Beneath that was scrawled an almost illegible signature, but the letter _P_ could be made out once or twice if you squinted hard enough.

Lazarus sighed and muttered a curse under his breath. This one card had set the archbishop into a rabid frenzy. It had taken years for the Asayev family to work its way into the Pope's good graces, and even longer for them to obtain a position as high as archbishop. But if Archbishop Asayev were to lose a holy relic to some common thief, years of tedious ecclesiastical politics would be reversed. The Asayevs' precarious power and prestige would be stripped away in little more than a week, and it was this possibility that tormented His Excellency night and day.

...And of course, that meant he was going to take it out on anyone and everyone. Especially the altar boys, and especially the orphans with no family to defend them. Lazarus grit his teeth and rubbed the still-throbbing welt on his cheek. A punishment for, supposedly, insubordination. He remembered staring up into the dead glass eye which regarded him with contemptuous displeasure. That damned eye, Lazarus thought. It was as if it pierced through him with its daggerlike stare, opening him up widely and drinking in his resentment and discomfort.

Cursing louder, Lazarus decided to direct his anger into the floor of the empty sanctuary he was sweeping. He didn't want to give the old man another excuse for his cruelty. His thoughts drifted back to the card and its looping letters. He'd only briefly seen it on Archbishop Asayev's desk, but it left a strong impression in his mind. He couldn't really think of a reason for Platonic to announce their arrival beforehand. Unless it was a distraction...?

Outside, the sun was softly sinking into the horizon. The tall stained-glass windows cast their scenes onto the floor in dizzying kaleidoscopic patterns, elongated and distorted upon the cold tiled floor. The Original Sinner and her Forbidden Fruits slithered over the black and white as the wrathful image of the Twin Dragon-gods flowed over the rows of empty pews. Lazarus yawned and continued sweeping, letting the strange mixture of anger and drowsiness wash over him. The repetitive and mechanical sweeping motions melted his mind away into the low drone of summer, and he let himself be suspended in that state for a few minutes, enjoying the calming effect it had.

When he turned around to sweep the other side of the pews, Lazarus let out a little yelp. There was an Elphe girl knelt behind him, eyes downcast and hands apparently clasped in prayer. She must have come in when he was lost in his thoughts. Sunset was an odd time to be at church, but it wasn't his place to begrudge the pious their prayer time or anything. He didn't want to interrupt whatever she was doing, but felt too embarassed to just keep sweeping in front of her. 

"Hey," he said, a little self-consciously.

"Hey," she replied, smiling through her voice. "Enjoying yourself?"

She turned her face up to look at him, and for a moment Lazarus was caught up in just how green her eyes were.

"Sure," he stammered. Then after a moment. "You?"

The girl kept her bright green eyes trained on him, and in spite of himself, Lazarus averted his gaze.

"Of course," she replied. "I'm just here for a little bit of peace. I always find sunset oddly calming in great big cathedrals like this one."

She stood up, and walked past Lazarus, continuing until she was three or four paces from the altar.

"I hope your cheek is okay," she said, somewhat distractedly. "It looks pretty bad."

"It is," Lazarus blurted out before he realized what he was saying. "I'm sorry, I meant-"

"So it was here all along, hm? Hehehe. Good of him to hide that heavily guarded decoy in the sacristy, but the Association's intel network is better than that."

The girl had knelt down by the altar, and was presently removing one of the tiles beneath it. She reached her hand into the floor and pulled out a plain wooden box painted black, shaking it slightly.

"Yes, that must be it," she murmured, excitement creeping into her voice. "In that case-"

Lazarus didn't have much time to process what was going on before the sanctuary doors swung open, the archbishop framed in the doorway. Asayev sneered as his glassy eye revolved around and around in his head, casting its baleful gaze on all corners of the sanctuary.

"I've found you at last, you little lowlife. You can't hope to escape now. I have men planted around all exits to this sanctuary. You won't be going anywhere with that."

The girl didn't turn to face him, only smiling and admiring the silver goblet she'd taken out from the box.

"Hehehe. Oh Archbishop. Didn't you know? There's nothing in this world I can't steal..." At this she chuckled a little, twirling the goblet between her fingers. "...well, probably."

Turning around, the girl snapped her fingers. All the candles in the sanctuary flickered and went out. A strangled cry escaped Asayev's throat as the room fell into darkness.

"D- Demoness!"

"How rude." The girl's voice echoed around the room. "You really shouldn't speak to people more competent than you like that. And judging by how your altar boy looks, it doesn't seem like you're in much of a position to be saying such things."

The sound of quick footsteps darted around the room in circles, then a muted swooshing sound in the dark.

"But who cares?" Her voice was back, but now it sounded far above them somehow. "All my jobs are commissions, after all. And it looks like you've made some powerful enemies, Archbishop. Hehe."

The sound of shattering glass rang out from the great rose window behind the altar. Multicolored shards exploded out into the cool air of twilight, spinning once or twice before moving out of view.

"At any rate, your defense wasn't very well thought out. Next time, make sure not to underestimate me, okay? It'll make the job more fun."

Looking up, Lazarus saw the girl silhouetted against the the first stars of dusk. Her green eyes seemed to shine in the dark, and though she was addressing the archbishop, seemed focused on Lazarus's face.

"Have a good night, Your Excellency!"

The sound of footsteps on the roof soon faded into silence. Across the sanctuary, Asayev collapsed to his knees, glassy eye still trained on the darkening firmament above.

"How can it be..." he muttered. "How could a doll...?"

* * *

Three days after the heist, Lazarus found a card under his sheets. It was neatly cut, and trimmed with delicate gold leaf that shone in torchlight. It was inscribed with black ink in a tidy cursive, and the swirling letters seemed to dance across the white cardstock. "To the altar boy whom I briefly met," it read. "If you want to get away from that church, lake outside village, midnight tonight. Will you be there?"

Beneath that was scrawled a smiley face, and the barely legible letter P.

Lazarus closed his eyes and allowed himself a little smile, settling the card under his pillow.

"Of course," he whispered into the air.

And the wind seemed to whisper back, "Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> By Gift (@okurimono-dono.tumblr.com)


End file.
